The Bear in the Campsite

In 2019, a family camping in Glacier National Park woke to the sound of something heavy pushing against their bear canister. The father, Greg Walton, grabbed a flashlight and stepped outside the tent. A young grizzly was nosing through their campsite, knocking over chairs, sniffing at coolers. Every instinct told Greg to run. Instead, he remembered what the park rangers had drilled into every camper at registration: stand tall, make yourself big, clap your hands, and hold your ground. Do not run. Running triggers the chase.

Greg planted his feet. He raised his arms wide, banged a pot with a spoon, and shouted into the dark. The bear startled, huffed once, and lumbered back into the tree line. It never returned.

What the rangers understood is what James understood two thousand years ago. The enemy prowls. He tests the perimeter. He looks for someone who will flinch, someone who will turn and run, because running is an invitation to be chased. But resistance — firm, deliberate, grounded resistance — sends him retreating into the darkness.

Notice the order James gives us. He does not say, "Resist the devil" first. He says, "Submit yourselves to God." Greg Walton did not face that bear on raw courage alone. He stood on the authority of what the rangers had taught him. When we plant our feet on the Word of the Almighty and refuse to flee, the enemy is the one who runs.